November 2002

Thursday, 28 November 2002

Scaryduck's comment in the previous post but one reminds me it is time for me to tell of one of my less praiseworthy contributions to World Peace, Mental Health and General Joy.

Namely, How I Helped to Make Black Lace the Global Superstars and Party Regulars they are today.

It all started innocently enough. As a teenager I listened to Piccadilly Radio, the commercial radio station serving the Greater Greater Manchester area. A radio station that spawned, amongst others, Andy Peebles, Garry Davies, Timmy Mallet, Chris Evans, Steve Penk, Richard Keys, Mark Radcliffe and Tery Christian (and The Word).

There was also a presenter called Dave Ward. In the 80s he was very popular. (I last heard of him five years ago d-j-ing in a Blackpool pub). He used to host the 11-2 at night programme . There were certain traditions associated with this, best summed up by the jingle

Under the Bedclothes with Cuddly Dave.
Everyone knows he's a bit of a rave.
Bedsocks and garters and Terry the Tug.
Nookie and birthdays and records he'll plug.
Eleven to two in this we will revel
Because we all know he's a dirty old devil.

One of the traditions was flashing. When Dave gave you the nod, you had to flash your bedroom lights and look out to see whether your neighbours were flashing theirs, then ring up to say. Nevile started going out in the Flash Van to look for people to flashing. This grew into gatherings at an announced phonebox.

He very much welcomed contributions from listeners. I was a very frequent contributor - probably in the Top 5 - to the extent that I knew my letters would also be read out on other shows, because I was "Gerry from Sale - she's not a fella".

One of the traditions was horizontal dancing. At ten to midnight a dance record would come on and you had dance to it, in bed. Again, the onus was on the listeners to find obscure records and send them in, then other listeners would demand they be played again and again. One such was "The Joker" by Phil Charles. This was on more or less every other day, prompting Black Lace to record a version and call it Superman.

When it was riding high in the charts, Peter Powell stated on Radio One that it was selling well because of a "strange dance fashion in the North of England..."

So if you ever wanted to know the history of Black Lace's Superman, there you have it.

Wednesday, 27 November 2002

I have to say that baseball caps in general and men wearing hats indoors are two things that do irritate me. But not to the point of saying they should be Primetime news. I would tend to agree that a significant proportion of people who would wear a baseball cap whilst in consultation with a doctor are likely to be hostile and aggressive types. But can you legislate or regulate away stupidity?

As for gated communities, they are something that fill me with dread. Personally, I cannot see the attraction of living somewhere shut off from the outside world, surrounded by neighbours who, almost by definition are smug, self-satisfied, narrow minded, misanthropic. The ones I have seen are devoid of any character, any energy and any facilities worth mentioning. They become an enclave where people have nothing better to do with their sad little lives except worry about being burgled, whilst failing to realise that they advertise themselves to be wealthy, and make themselves more vulnerable to burglary by excluding passers-by who would act as a deterrent to burglars.

There are wider social issues about social exclusion. However, the sort of people who will gravitate towards gated communities are unlikely to have the slightest concern about such matters. "I'm alright Jack, sod you"

I was tempted however to email 'Today' suggesting that people live in gated communities to escape people wearing baseball caps. But I suspect it isn't half as funny written down as it is in my head.

Sunday, 24 November 2002

I was delighted to see Manchester United win 5-3 yesterday against Newcastle, thanks to Paul Scholes, Ruud van Nistelrooy (3) and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer. So far, they've had a fairly variable season, sailing through the first group stage of the European Cup and spluttering in the League. With Liverpool and Arsenal losing, United are fifth, six points behind the Arse. - to make a bid for the top. Everton are in a very strange third place.

Yesterday evening we went to see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I would definitely recommend it. We went to "...and the Philosopher's Stone" by accident: me thinking Jimmy wanted to go, and he thinking that I did. Neither of us thought we would like it, but there was no question whatsoever about going to this one. Don't misunderstand me - it's not great, or massively thought provoking, and SPOILER the Goodies won over the Baddies.

Incidentally, I got side-tracked by this bulletin board where some person kicked up a whole storm by saying that Harry Potter should be filmed in American accents. One person posted:

No offense, and not to go against the Rowling's work, but why can't you believe American publishers changed some sayings and words (like the title of book 1)? They had too. Sure the original British English could have fostered dialogues between parents and children across the U.S., but really, "jumper"? An American child reads that word and won't ask what it is because we have our own notions of what a "jumper" is and it's not a sweater. We would have read that wrong and then had the wrong image in our heads.

Things like soccer or the word billion. In British aren't they football and trillion. American's football is a very different sport and a trillion is so much larger than a billion. Or how about that a public school in America would be a state school in Britain or that a public school in Britain would be a private school in America. Certain words need the translation to avoid confusion.

Just as books need to be translated from British into French or Japanese, they also need translated into American English. And vice-versa I'm sure. The two languages are not at all interchangable. I like British English. I love movies set in Britain, but that's because in the movies I can get the context of the language from the visuals on screen. In a book, it's a bit harder. Certain sayings in Britain mean other things in America. But if there are American sayings that better convey the British meaning, why not translate? It's not an insult to American youth and their intelligence, but a logical way to make sure that American children truly understand and see J.K. Rowling's story and vision as she intended.

I have to admit to being shocked at that. When I was a child I read quite a few books from North America - notably, those by Louisa M Alcott (Little Women etc), LM Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables) and Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie). These were not translated into English English, and some of the expressions and words threw me, but I seem to remember that I somehow I just absorbed that words were slightly different, and part of the richness of reading is learning about far away places.

This afternoon I had a bit of a bad back, so I went for a long soak in the bath. when I got out, Jimmy asked me to get some chocolates out of the fridge 'because they need eating'. So I held them above my head and looked up to see if there was a 'Best Before' date on the bottom. I did a nasty injury to my neck, which made it nigh on impossible to move for half an hour, and still hurts now about five hours later. I later spoke on the phone to my brother, a doctor. He diagnosed Walnut Whiplash.

Friday, 15 November 2002

Sometimes I like a comment so much, I just have to post it to my own blog. This was left at troubled diva, to which you'll have to click to find out the link to the Spreadsheet of Number one singles which contains the soon-to-be notorious* Line 609.

"May I be slightly pedantic, in that on Line 609, "With A Little Help From My Friends" was actually released as a Double A, and I bought it on the strength of the flip side, "She's Leaving Home" by Billy Bragg.

I actually bought it the day before my sister's wedding, which could be the cue for a very poignant story. Except that I was thinking "She's leaving home, finally I get a bedroom to myself, typical me to have to wait until I'm away at Uni for that to happen!"

Incidentally, do they have Double As these days. I always thought them very good vfm, two A sides on one disc. Mind you in "the old days" there were some class songs as "B sides". In fact Adam Ant even released an EP called The 'B' sides. The best B side ever was "Seconds" on the back of "Don't You Want Me" by the Human League.

Not like nowadays when yer average CD single includes The Song, the Radio mix, the Ibiza mix, the trance mix, the Mix mix, the Sample mix."

Thursday, 14 November 2002

I bought a scanner today. Okay, laugh at me, but I have seriously never owned a scanner before in my life.

So for your delight, I want to share with you my most favourite photo, ever, that I have ever taken.

I was revising for my exams at University and got to the point where I was loaded with facts, so I took off for a walk round the lake. As I left Hall, Top of the Pops was on, so I guess this was taken between half seven and eight on 14 June.

Wednesday, 13 November 2002

As the more regular and attentive readers will know, my partner Jimmy owns a cafe. His typical customers are builders, tradespeople etc. It's good quality food, but nothing fancy. He opens at five and closes at three.

This morning he had just opened, and other than his friend, Bobby, who had given him a lift down, there were no customers. Two men walked in, one of them brandishing a knife, and demanded money. Being a cafe, he had sharp knives handy. He picked a couple up and waved them around, knowing the law on self-defence, but knowing not to make the first move. He told them to fuck off.

Meanwhile, Bobby (who is not a young man) stood up and made a noise to confuse and distract them. They left, but not before they had begged for 'just ten pounds'. That made him flip and he told me he ranted at them that it was his cafe and he worked hard for his money and he wasn't handing it over to scum like them.

I spent most of the day alternating between feeling relieved that he had got rid of them, and worried about 'what if...' It was only on the way home that I realised that, actually, he's a hero, repelling an attempted robbery at knife point.

I find it unpleasant, to say the least, that the tabloid press can run scurrilous stories about someone, with the intention of destroying their career, despite the fact that Brian Paddick, as borough commander, was, and remains, astonishingly popular.

Two - not one, but two - public meetings were called in support of him. In an area which has a long history of conflict between the police and the populace. A website has been set up in support. If, as it seems to be the case, his erstwhile partner smoked cannabis, it seems facile to assume that Paddick "allowed him to". I would not be surprised to hear of other senior police officers allowing their partners to do much worse - drink drive, perhaps, or evade tax.

The stories of sex in the toilets of the Gatwick Express are not exactly to my taste, but I would be extremely surprised if there is not one straight senior police officer who has not indulged in tacky sex in a public place or whatever.

I find it serious amiss that a scum *newspaper* can run a story to sell and make money that undermines a serious attempt to tackle crime in an area with a high crime rate. It is verging on corruption: the tabloids are accountable to no-one.

No doubt they would justify it in terms of "investigative reporting", which convinces me not. Perhaps it's about time they realised that their role is to report on the clothes worn by nonentity wannabes and leave the serious stuff to people who are committed to making a difference.

I have no doubt in my mind that there are forces at work who are determined to ensure that an out gay person could never reach the very senior level Brian was tipped to reach. Remember the senior police officer in Merseyside, Alison (whose name escapes me and I don't have time to google) who is now a member of the Welsh Assembly, who was victim of a dirty tricks campaign because she was not only *shock horror* a woman, but, *gasp* a lesbian.

Tuesday, 12 November 2002

I realise that I am stepping onto vodkabird territory here, but I just have to rant about this.

I came out of Somerfield and spotted a magical 417 coming round the corner, heading to the bus stop. (The 417 is magical because it takes me to my door, particularly handy when I have just emerged from Somerfield! It's also magical when it turns up.) I knew that if I ran I would catch it, even with my lugubrious running, even having come out of Somerfield.

I ran, and to my delight, when I got to the door of the bus, there was somebody stood paying the driver. I heaved my carcass onto the bus, only to feel a sharp and heavy thump on my left waist (the bit where my circumference lessens - I reckon it's good for another five years). I went half sprawling onto the floor, unable to put out my left arm which was carrying a Somerfield bag, unable to put out my right arm because it was fishing in my shoulder bag for my Travelcard. Winded and angry, but not expressing my rage, I spoke to the bus driver.

"What was that about?" He muttered something. I continued, saying that he had shut the door on me and knocked me over. He said he hadn't seen me, I hadn't been at the bus stop when he got there, I'd been running for the bus. I pointed out that I was standing on the platform when he shut the door. He probably couldn't see me because somebody was standing between him and me.

He shrugged and pulled one of those faces, as if it was of marginal concern to him. I flounced to my seat. As I did I said, "An apology would be nice!" This cow sat in the front seat turned round and stared at me, then glared at me. I scowled at her. Didn't she notice? I fell over. I was hit by a closing bus door. That was three hours ago. I can still feel it.

I know I should have got his number, but, you know, I had almost fallen to the ground, hit by a closing bus door. I was shocked. You get shock when assaulted by a bus.

Monday, 11 November 2002

As a Labour activist I was looking forward to a drama featuring history and events I could identify with. As a grassroots member, I was looking forward to the dissing of the "Millbank Tendency". I turned off after forty five minutes, bored by the two-dimensional characters and stilted dialogue. Geraldine, UK

We watched 50 places to see before you die. I had feared it would be excruciating but it turned out not to be. I did have a momentary panic when Number50 was Bora Bora and I thought they meant Tora Bora! I have to confess there were places I had not even heard of. There were other places that I would go to if offered free tickets or if I won the proverbial lottery, but otherwise I wouldn't want to.

As we watched and spectacular places - most notably the Great Barrier Reef and the Grand Canyon - Jimmy was saying "Oh you'd love to go there and take photos. " Possibly, but what can I do to improve the vast wealth of photos that already exist of such places? I don't have the resources to return day-after-day, and in all seasons to capture the definitive photograph.

Just before we watched it, I was looking through some old photo albums. About eight years ago I decided that I would journal every aspect of my life photographically. I have some incredibly boring photographs of Basingstoke and Chessington South stations. And some surprisingly interesting ones of my desk at the time.

For me, the most fascinating ones of are people. Some of the most boring are of when Helen and I toured round Ireland. We saw the most gorgeous scenery, and had a ball, but, I think, my mojo was missing.

When I look at other people's weblogs, I find it fascinating to look at photos of the blogger. When I first started blogging, I was determined not to publish photos of myself. I feared that my appearance would be ridiculed. But the more blogs I see, the more I see people who do not conform to media stereotypes of what is beautiful. I find it refreshing to see fat people. I find it refreshing to see ugly people. I see very few classic beauties/hunks. I see a great number of people who, when you look at them as a whole, are ordinary looking, or vaguely pretty, or even tending to the quite attractive. But you see that person when their eyes shine, or when they give that smile. Well, it's rather refreshing.

Monday, 04 November 2002

Inevitably reminiscent of the film 'Amadeus', and far from being Mozart's greatest work, nevertheless, to me, symbolic of Mozart. How one piece of music, only 5 minutes long, can combine passages of ominous, bass- and tlmpani-dominated dark, with the sweet optimism of sopranos and high strings, without a jarring or even an obvious join.

The film portrays Mozart feverishly trying to finish the mysterious commission which turns out to be his own Requiem. The veracity of this remains debatable: nevertheless, it remains a powerful allegory to the extraordinarily paradoxical life of the greatest creative genius of all time.

It is universally agreed that he was an insufferably awful person - although nowadays he would deserve recognition as the victim of a bullying father. I wonder what it would have been like to have known him, to what extent awe at his genius was outweighed by irritation at his manner.

I got into Mozart relatively late in life. As a child I was into Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Handel. Playing percussion in school orchestra got me into the Strauss family. At O-Level, the syllabus included the study of six works and the life and times of their composers. We didn't study Fauré and his Requiem because Mrs B. felt it was better to do five properly than six superficially. In order of preference my favourites were Montiverdi's Beatus Vir, Schumann's Kinderscenen, Arnold's Scottish Dances, Mozart's Clarinet Quintet in A K.581, and Handel's Concerto Grosso Opus 6 No 6.

To my eternal shame, all I remember from the history side was that Schumann and some friends, influenced by the poetry of Goethë and Schiller, formed a group called the Davidsbündler. They were iconoclastic against those who preceded them, whom they dubbed the Philistines for their adherence to form (over substance), and most importantly, Schumann's talent largely emanated from the fact that he had syphilis. We learnt that the rash was only the first stage. This was followed by a stiffening of the fingers and toes - which curtailed his career as a concert pianist - and the final stage is a madness, from which flows genius.

To conclude, I would never hesitate to name Mozart as my favourite composer. Beethoven, in a distant second place, is well clear of a field of a dozen or so, whom it would be invidious - and pointless - to rank.

Friday, 01 November 2002

I haven't written anything about this matter here, because until today I just mentally classed it as "Hello" material. That having been said, I have had a number of conversations about it.

One of the facts that came out a few weeks ago was that among the letters he was charged with stealing were from Prince Philip. Presumably, the ones that read:

Dear Diana. You are a truly wonderful person. I feel not that I have lost a son but a gained a daughter. Lots of love, Your adoring father-in-law Philip.

So, the Queen has decided to condescend to save an innocent man and loyal servant from going down for seven years. What a truly wonderful woman she is. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

How much has this case cost? A million and a half, said the BBC. Perhaps the Queen should be forced to pay out of her own fortune*. The sad and sick thing is that stilll the Stupid People will go on about how wonderful the Royal Family is.

And have to say that I wonder about Burrell. What kind of person would be prepared to spend seven years in prison rather than reveal a material conversation. Loyal, yes, but...get a grip! (And what about loyalty to his own family, who have suffered, and will have suffered more?)

The updated version of the book will sell.

* built up from centuries of expoiting the people and pocketing the income fromthe so-called Crown Estates (aka The Crown Estates)

Logically, it should be no more upsetting than "thousands of people, including adults, die in Asian/South American earthquake" or "200 holiday makers, including a score of Brits die in bomb blast" at night club. But somehow it is. Perhaps partly because I have an especial fondness for Italy. And perhaps because it is unbearable to think

the children may have been too young to know how to protect themselves under their desks

A few days ago a post by Dave inspired a comment about Aberfan. That happened over a year before I was born, but, somehow, it was an event that somehow, I knew about as I grew up. I don't recall when I first learnt about. I suspect it coloured the ambience of the early to mid Seventies, in the way that, say, Hillsborough, is still a current topic today.

What binds so many of these things together, though, is the avoidability of such losses.